


Nothing Left to Do Tonight

by ChasingRabbits



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Human, Bathroom Sex, Dogs, Fluff, Human Castiel, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingRabbits/pseuds/ChasingRabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel makes it a point not to have one-night stands, especially with roguish young men hustling pool in the back of the bar, but this time he couldn't help himself. So what, it's only one night. He'll never see the guy again. </p><p>Naturally, that does not turn out to be the case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Left to Do Tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thepinupchemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepinupchemist/gifts).



> "Nowhere to breathe easy, no time to be young.  
> But I tell myself that I'm doing all right,  
> There's nothing left to do tonight   
> but go crazy on you"
> 
> Crazy on You - Heart
> 
>  
> 
> Written for Scarlett (thepinupchemist), who needed some cute boys and dogs this week.

There are a few very good reasons that Castiel does not make one-night sexual encounters a habit.

The first: while he’s gotten much better in social situations over the years, the rules and regulations of mating rituals still evade him.

The second: he hardly likes most people enough to even strike up a conversation with someone, let alone touch them.

The third: he has a lot of ways he likes to prepare himself before he lets anybody near what Gabriel would refer to as ‘his man business’.

The fourth: his brother Gabriel and the fact that they currently cohabitate.

It’s not that Gabriel is strict or has rules about bringing guests over (in all honesty, Castiel desperately wishes that he did), but that it’s just the opposite. Gabriel celebrates every single one of Castiel’s delinquent achievements, and apparently one-night stands are at the top of that list.

This time, however, Castiel chose to approach the matter differently, fucking some mind-numbingly handsome guy in the back of his car. The guy had been hustling pool in the back of the bar, Castiel had just come off his shift, and the guy had been making eyes at him over his beer all night.

Castiel couldn’t help himself.

Gabriel had, naturally, been awake when he’d gotten home at three in the morning, had applauded Castiel’s _stride of pride_ , and promptly passed out on the couch afterward.

He knows Gabriel means well, but it doesn’t make his cheeks burn any less.

The only salvation that comes is when he wakes up and realizes that it’s Saturday, and there’s only an hour before his shift at the animal shelter starts.

Gabriel thinks he’s insane for working the bar at night and the shelter during the day, says that no one should have to work that hard to get a degree they won’t use, but Castiel ignores it and pushes through it.

The bar is good for tips, plus Ellen is an understanding boss when it comes to his schoolwork.

The animal shelter makes Castiel _feel_ good, though. It’s a place where he feels that he’s really making a difference, not just in the lives of the animals, but in the lives of the people who come looking for a pet to adopt.

Castiel rides his bike the couple of miles to the animal shelter and thanks whoever may be listening up above that the guy had been so on board with being on bottom last night. He’s ridden his bike only once after a one-night stand where the opposite had been the case, and that had not been fun.

Greeted by Charlie at the front desk, Castiel already feels much better about the prospects of the day ahead. So what that he woke up with only three hours of actual sleep under his belt, or that he has a headache to end all headaches. Charlie is here and it’s Saturday, so that means she brought in some of that good coffee from the shop by her apartment.

Castiel sits beside her and melts into the cup, breathing in the strong, bittersweet scent.

“Looks like someone had a good night,” she gives him a knowing smile.

“I fail to see how three hours of sleep and an uncomfortable backseat qualify as ‘good’, but I’ll have to take your word for it,” Castiel blows across the top of his coffee and sips at the still piping hot liquid.

He tries so hard to ignore the face Charlie makes at him.

“What?” he finally asks.

“An uncomfortable backseat?” she gives a low whistle. “My, my, I had no idea Bagginses could be so adventurous.”

Castiel flips her off, remembering only too late that there’s a camera hooked up to the ceiling and that they are under constant supervision.

“Good for you,” she pats him on the back. “Way to be.”

Castiel doesn’t exactly get why everyone feels the need to congratulate him on sexual intercourse. It’s a ritual as old as humanity itself, there is nothing new or divine about it.

Except maybe last night had been a little divine.

That guy had a great ass and apparently no sense of shame when it came to where he put his mouth.

“No boners at the front desk,” she reminds him, and Castiel scowls back at her.

“Since when do lesbians get to tell us what we can and can’t do with our erections?” asks Castiel, more than a little perturbed at the fact that Charlie can now apparently anticipate where his mind drifts now.

“Since we’re the only ones who wouldn’t miss ‘em if they were gone,” Charlie comes back cheerfully.

Castiel concedes with a nod, “Point taken.”

He decides to take a walk back where they keep the dogs. The dogs always help clear his head, and in typical dog fashion can always tell when he’s upset and needs cheering up.

Castiel stops at the cage of a very affectionate pit bull named Tilda. She doesn’t like most people who come by, but Castiel appears to be an exception to this. Every time Castiel stops at her cage, she lets out a happy bark and hops up on the mesh walls of her enclosure, trying to get at him.

Dogs aren’t allowed in his and Gabriel’s apartment, which is the only reason Gabriel even approved of Castiel working at the shelter to begin with. Knowing that they’re not allowed to have one makes it a little easier on them. It’s a definitive answer when Tilda gives Castiel the eyes, or that Jack Russell down at the other end of the walk begs and begs Gabriel for attention every time he comes here to visit.

When Castiel finds out that Kevin’s taking the SAT today, and therefore will not be doing his volunteer shift, he realizes that he’ll be the one on cage cleaning duty.

It’s not the worst—okay, it’s pretty bad, but it’s more interaction with the dogs than he usually gets, and today he kind of needs it.

He makes it through an entire row of cages before he has to pause. He’s sweaty and grimy and covered in dog drool and, most likely, excrement, but it’s good.

He’s good.

It pays to exhaust oneself with good old fashioned hard work.

“… and we have a wide variety of dogs to choose from out here,” Castiel hears Charlie’s voice as he bends over the water fountain to get a drink.

“Well, if I wouldn’t recognize that ass anywhere.”

Castiel shoots up, nearly chipping his tooth on the spigot as he does so.

And, added to the list of reasons never to have one night stands is number five:

You never know where you’ll run into them next.

**oo**

Dean knows they don’t have a lot. In fact, the only thing they do have is Sammy’s brains and Dean’s very loose interpretation of any given law.

They can’t count on dad for much, since he’s passed out on the couch when he’s not at work, too wrapped up in different cases to care much about what his sons do and don’t do for money and entertainment.

Does he know that Dean has a couple of fake IDs so that he can get into bars and hustle ass-backwards drunk idiots out of their cash? Does he know that Sam can count cards, or that he’s nearly been caught selling pot out behind the grocery store several times.

Does he know that Dean has worked out how to grow pot in their shed out back?

Probably not, since dad eats breathes and lives the job, and drinks away most of the money he gets in return for his dedication.

Dean and Sam have to make do in whatever way they can, and as time goes on they’ve both come to accept that this is just how life is right now.

Dean kind of likes it. With a GED under his belt and a natural talent for pool, there isn’t much else he could do.

He knows Sam wants out, and at sixteen he’s closer to that than ever.

He’s taking the SAT today, for fuck’s sake.

He wants to go to Stanford, or something. One of those fancy places that cost an assload to get into and either end up killing you or keeping you in debt for the rest of your life.

After spending an entire childhood breaking the law, he’s become obsessed with it, and says he wants to be I don’t know, a lawyer or something maybe?

Dean doesn’t mind. He’d just like it if Sam stayed a little closer to home is all.

He knows that it’s not going to happen, but he’ll try to convince him in any way he can until then.

Perhaps this is what some would call ‘drastic measures’, but Dean is happy to go there if it means that Sam will stay with him. He doesn’t want to be left alone with dad, especially not while he’s working a case that’s as involved as the one he’s on right now.

Triple homicide.

_No time for love, Dr. Jones._

Dean smirks to himself as he takes a breath and pushes open the door to the animal shelter. He’s not looking to adopt today, just to see if there’s a little fella in this place that may need a home.

A dog that may just need a Sam Winchester in its life as badly as Sam Winchester needs a dog in his.

Dean’s head slams as he approaches the redhead behind the desk. She clicks away on her computer, one headphone lodged in her ear. Dean almost interrupts her, but before he can she lets out a triumphant yelp and thrusts her fists in the air.

“Oh, boy, that felt good,” she nods and plucks the earbud from her ear. “How can I help you?”

“Hi,” Dean drums his fingers on the desk. “I’m looking for a dog.”

“Well, good thing you came here,” she comes back with a wry smile on her face, and Dean grins back.

“I’m just kind of scoping today,” he explains. “It was my brother’s birthday on Wednesday and he’s been dropping hints about getting a dog forever.”

“You know they’re not just birthday presents, right?” the girl asks. “You actually need to love them and take care of them.”

“Trust me, he’s got it covered,” Dean grabs a pen out of the cup on her desk. “He loves animals.”

The girl appears to be a little skeptical, but stands and leads Dean outside anyway. He ignores the cats that make eyes at him on the way out of the building, and tells himself that the sneeze coming on is just in his mind, that there’s probably not enough cat dander out here to do any damage.

He sneezes anyway.

When the girl, Charlie, her nametag reads, brings him out to the dogs, Dean pauses.

There’s a guy bent over the drinking fountain, sucking back water and covered in grime, with an ass that could make angels weep.

And when he says as much, Castiel shoots up to attention like he’s just been caught with his hand down his pants.

“H-hello, Dean,” he manages finally, and Dean smirks.

All night the guy had spent staring at him. At first, Dean thought it was because he somehow knew Dean was underage, despite the fact that he’s been in that bar several times and Ellen either doesn’t know or doesn’t care that he’s only just turned twenty.

If people like you, they tend not to care about that kind of thing.

It wasn’t until the end of the night, when he’d caught Castiel staring at his ass as he cleared up the pool table, that he realized, damn, that son of a bitch wanted to fuck him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” says Dean, smirk still firmly in place.

He can still feel Castiel’s cock hard inside him, still taste the molten heat of Castiel’s ass around his tongue.

Problematic memories to have in public, but hell if he’s letting the guy off the hook.

Charlie seems to sense that this is a private matter and gives Castiel a salute before she turns and walks back into the building.

“How are you?” Castiel asks and Dean smiles.

“Feelin’ pretty damn decent,” he admits. “You?”

“I’m covered in shit in front of a guy I just had sex with ten hours ago, so,” Castiel looks down at himself. “You could say I’ve been better.”

Dean chuckles, because even covered in shit and burning red with embarrassment, Castiel is still sexy as hell. He’s built nicely for the nerdy vibe he gives off, and under his obvious social retardation there’s at least some ability to flirt. He wouldn’t have gotten Dean into the back of his car otherwise.

Or maybe he would have.

Self-restraint isn’t one of Dean’s strong suits.

“So, you work here too?” he asks when he realizes neither of them has spoken for a while, and Castiel nods.

“I do.”

“Ellen doesn’t pay you enough, I guess?” Dean attempts to joke, but Castiel replies, “No, I just happen to like animals as well as working for Ellen.”

Dean’s smile dies on his lips and he shifts.

He usually doesn’t mind seeing one-night stands after the fact, but it’s usually days, weeks, or months after.

Not hours.

Not when the weight of what they’ve done together still hangs heavy in his mind.

With chicks it’s one thing—he’s used to them—but guys are still relatively new for him.

You usually hug a girl you had a (mutually good) thing with, but.

… do you hug a guy you just let fuck your ass into next week?

Dean is starting to realize that bisexuality has a lot of rules that he had not expected.

“You working back at the bar tonight?” is the thing that decides to come out of his mouth.

“I am,” Castiel nods.

“Are you here tomorrow?” Dean asks again.

“Also, yes,” Castiel frowns, like he doesn’t get why Dean would be asking him this.

Dean should not have to tattoo, “I WANT TO FUCK YOU AGAIN” on his forehead, but if he has to be any more forward, that’s what it may come to.

“So,” Dean folds his arms over his chest, “If you were to take me around to look at these guys, and I were to think there was one I wanted, you’d be here tomorrow to help me adopt ‘em.”

“As long as you came before three o’clock,” Castiel nods, still not getting it.

Dean sighs.

“Oh,” Castiel realizes. “I’ll take you around to the dogs now.”

Wow, not even close, Dean shakes his head, but replies, “Yeah, that’d be awesome.”

**oo**

Dean likes dogs more than he lets on, Castiel finds. Big or little, old or young, Dean doesn’t care. He regards each dog with the same amount of affection as he shows the last. It’s softer than the Dean he saw last night, a blunting of the jagged edges made by too much whiskey and high stakes pool games.

Even Tilda sees it, and lets Dean scratch her behind her ears.

“Whoa, who’s this?”

Dean presses his face against the cold mesh of the cage at the end of the very last row. Paddy is an Irish wolfhound; he came to the shelter a few months ago with a busted leg and has since made a full recovery. Irish wolfhounds don’t have a very long life expectancy to begin with, which means anyone looking to give a dog a forever home is a little hesitant when it comes to Paddy.

“That fucking sucks,” Dean squats down to Paddy’s level and sticks his fingers through the cage. Paddy, not used to the affection, perks up instantly and presses his large face into Dean’s hand.

“I like him,” Dean concludes.

“Irish wolfhounds usually only live to about seven or eight,” Castiel feels it’s only fair to warn Dean, and Dean shoots him a look.

“Come on, man, he’s right here,” he says. “He doesn’t need no naysayers around telling him how long he’ll live.”

“It’s just a fact, Dean,” Castiel points out. Dean doesn’t seem comforted by this at all, so Castiel bites his lips shut and decides he’s better off just not saying anything.

“Could you,” Dean begins, and then falters when he catches Castiel’s eye. “Uh, could you make sure no one takes him? I wanna bring Sammy here tomorrow. He’d love him.”

“Sure,” Castiel nods.

“And if I were to stop by the bar tonight,” Dean leans in, unforgivably close, “You think you could give me the time of day?”

Castiel’s cheeks burn a deep crimson, because this close he can feel Dean’s body heat rolling off of him, can see the freckles on his face and the deep green of his eyes.

His mouth goes dry, and he nods.

Dean grins back.

“Awesome.”

Awesome.

Awesome.

“What does awesome even mean?”

Gabriel pauses his movie and looks up from his computer at Castiel, eyebrows raised.

“Obviously it means you’re not a god-awful embarrassment in bed,” he says. “Who knew?”

Castiel flops down onto the couch and groans into the cushions.

“Oh, lighten the fuck up,” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “So some guy you fucked around with wants your dick again. Who cares?”

“I do,” Castiel replies.

“Was it bad?” Gabriel asks, now genuinely trying to understand.

“No,” Castiel sits up and drapes himself over the back of the couch, staring off into the middle distance. “It was really fun.”

“Would you fuck him again?”

Castiel nods.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“That I want to fuck him again,” Castiel explains, frustration now coloring his voice. How does nobody get how distressing this is? Dean is going to be at the bar again tonight, and with every minute that ticks away it’s like he’s a minute closer to death.

He is not a fan.

“Stop treating it like the end-all, be-all of your existence,” Gabriel replies, bored already by the situation. “What’s life until you fuck a random more than once?”

Castiel frowns and looks up at his brother, “Do people actually say that?”

“Fuck if I know,” Gabriel shrugs, and goes back to his movie.

At the bar, Castiel wonders if he can spend all night pouring drinks. Ellen doesn’t believe in mixology, puts about as much stock in it as a skeptic does horoscopes, but in order to keep herself in business, she was forced to hire someone who knew their way around a cocktail.

Enter: Meg Masters.

Meg barely trusts Castiel with the drinks she makes, let alone with actual bottles of what she calls the good stuff. He’s already broken several hurricane glasses in her presence; needless to say, her wariness is not unfounded.

“Christ, Clarence, what’s got your panties in a bunch?” she asks as Castiel tries to hide himself behind her. Dean’s eyes scan the bar for him, and meanwhile Castiel attempts to become invisible (since hiding behind a tiny brunette is not working for him).

“Oh, shit,” Meg’s face drops. “That’s that goddamned kid who nearly bankrupted half the back room last night. Would you go take care of him? I don’t wanna look at his smug face.”

“Why me?” Castiel snaps.

“Because you’re a strapping lad,” Meg shrugs. “And if things get hairy, you can kick his ass. I have faith in you.”

Castiel couldn’t promise he’d kick Dean’s ass, but there are some other ass thoughts floating around in his head right now.

Very dangerous ass thoughts.

“Come on,” Meg pushes him out from behind the bar. “Fulfill your destiny. Get that punk the hell out of here before he meets with the business end of my boot.”

Castiel groans and like that Dean spots him.

Well, there’s no stopping it now, he figures.

Dean holds up a hand in a wave, and Castiel finds himself unable to stop smiling at that earnest look on Dean’s face.

This is dangerous in every way.

“Well,” Meg braces her hands on her hips. “How about that. If you don’t want to kick him out, I could always cover for you if you wanted to reunite.”

Castiel glances back at her and nearly loses his composure when she makes a lewd hand gesture to illustrate her point.

“That’s disgusting, Meg,” he chides, but Dean is right there now and smiling at him and hell if it doesn’t make Castiel’s skin prickle, desperate for attention.

“Hey,” Dean greets, and Castiel turns to remind Meg that he has to get back to work, but she’s already gone.

Oh, that is messed up.

“Would you like anything to drink?” asks Castiel, waiter switch still flipped on in his brain.

“Would you?” Dean chuckles.

Meg brings them two beers herself, winking at Castiel as she steers them to a high table in the corner.

“First round’s on me, boys,” she says. “Enjoy, you filthy little heathens.”

Dean is attractive.

Not just in the physical sense (because, oh boy, is he downright damn sexy), but the way he carries himself. The way he laughs so easily over his beer, the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners when he smiles at Castiel, even the way he lights up when a favorite song comes on the radio.

Just from one drink, Castiel learns that Dean likes classic rock and cars, and for the first time in Castiel’s life neither of those things seems as boring as they once did.

“You study what?”

“History and anthropology,” says Castiel.

“The fuck is anthropology?”

“The study of humankind,” Castiel explains.

“How is that not history?” asks Dean.

“History is the study of the past and how it affects humankind,” Castiel elaborates. “I find humankind fascinating, so I figured these were my two best areas of study.”

“You say that like you’re not a part of it,” says Dean.

“Maybe sometimes I feel as though I’m not,” Castiel shrugs. It makes him sound like a pompous ass, he’s pretty sure, but he doesn’t mean it to be. Others in his field, often others who are regarded as much more intelligent than he, so often speak as though they look down on humanity, like they’re of some grander design, looking down upon the sphere of humanity with pity, with wonder at how something so small can possibly function. Really all Castiel means by it is that he’s always felt like an outsider looking in.

Not as though he’s looking into a fish bowl so much as he’s looking into a thirty-foot tall aquarium.

“s’okay,” Dean shrugs. “I don’t get along too well with other people myself.”

Castiel hums. He can see that in Dean, though he’s not sure how anyone couldn’t get along with him. He’s friendly and funny, and yeah, pretty dorky, but Castiel’s dorky too, so it all works out.

And Dean kisses like it’s a minute ‘til midnight. He presses his tongue into Castiel’s mouth, tasting and stroking as though they’ll blink out of existence at any moment.

Maybe they will.

Castiel lets Dean pull him back toward the restrooms, laughing and kissing each other the entire way. If they're trying to be subtle, they're doing a piss poor job of it. Still, the moment they're alone, Dean hoists Castiel up onto the sink counter and presses his palm into his crotch. He knows just where to touch, seems to have this innate sense of what feels good, and greedily Castiel wants to keep it all for himself.

He wants Dean’s hands and lips and tongue all over him, public bathroom and shoddy lock be damned.

Castiel arches into Dean’s hand and breaks their kiss to catch his breath. Dean nuzzles the stubble under Castiel’s jaw, presses hot, heavy kisses into his skin, and Castiel feels his innards flood with anticipation.

“Mm, god,” Castiel pants as Dean’s palm continues to knead at him. “Dean, I need you. Please.”

“Can’t say no to that,” Dean grins. Last night had been made possible only by the tube of lube Dean had stashed under the driver’s seat. Tonight, he pulls that same tube out of his jeans pockets and gives Castiel a broad smile.

And then he hands it to Castiel.

“No,” Castiel pushes it back and swallows hard. Dean’s eyebrows pinch with confusion, and then he realizes, “Oh… you sure?”

Castiel nods and pulls him into another kiss.

“Just,” he swallows hard. “Put the trashcan in front of the door.”

Dean grins, and as he obliges Castiel rids himself of his pants and his underwear. He reaches down to stroke himself sighing softly at the feeling of skin on skin, even if it’s all his own.

“Hey,” Dean steadies his wrist, coming back to kiss him, and murmurs against Castiel’s lips, “I get to do that.”

Castiel whimpers as Dean removes his hand and replaces it with his own. Nobody has ever felt this good to him before.

Dean ducks down between his legs then and takes the tip of Castiel’s erection into his mouth.

Castiel swears, and Dean hums a laugh around him. There’s no room for Castiel to catch his breath as Dean’s tongue flicks deftly over him, no way for him to wrap his mind around a coherent thought.

This guy will be the end of him, he’s almost positive.

“De-Dean,” Castiel runs a warning hand through Dean’s hair, and grips it when Dean hums again. “God, Dean, stop.”

Dean pulls away, confusion clouding his face, and Castiel smiles back at him. He brings Dean back up into a kiss, sighing at the taste of himself on Dean’s tongue.

It’s intoxicating in the very best way.

When they break, Dean puffs against Casiel’s lips, “You okay?”

“I want to come with you inside me,” Castiel explains, and delights in the shudder that runs through Dean’s body.

Dean pops the cap on the tube of lube and squeezes a generous portion onto his fingers. He shifts Castiel and presses a cold, slick finger into him. It’s such an intimate touch, and yet only a ghost of what’s to come.

Castiel sighs into it, kissing Dean and holding on tightly to him as he works him open. Two fingers inside him and he’s clenching around Dean, hungry for more. Three fingers has him thrusting back, mouthing at Dean’s jaw and begging, begging Dean to fuck him.

“Hang on,” Dean murmurs against him and removes his fingers so that he can reach back in his pocket for another something.

This time, it’s a condom.

Castiel doesn’t dare touch himself as Dean shoves down his pants and boxers. He wishes so badly that they had the time and space to be naked—Dean is probably lovely under all of his clothes.

Condom on and extra lube drizzled over himself, Dean grabs Castiel by the thick of his thighs and pulls him in close.

With one hand he guides his erection to Castiel’s entrance and presses ever-so slowly inside. Castiel moans. The feeling of another man’s cock stretching him open is nothing short of sublime, and it’s a feeling he can only replicate so closely on his own.

Dean doesn’t disappoint. He’s hard and thick and hot, and everything Castiel could possibly want in this moment.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Dean bows his head. “Real fuckin’ good, Cas.”

Castiel grips at the edges of the counter, ready—so fucking ready.

But Dean starts off slow, working his way up to a less agonizing pace. He rolls against Castiel and flashes him happy little grins that brighten up his handsome face.

Castiel can’t get at him like he wants. He can’t wrap his legs around Dean and fuck back, really. Not up on the sink like this. And Dean gets a little overzealous and pops out of Castiel a couple of times, but Castiel can’t be annoyed because Dean’s face will flush red and he’ll avert his eyes.

And then Castiel gets to whisper that it’s all okay, that it feels so good, and that sets Dean going again.

There’s a cramp forming in his back from the awkward angle, and Castiel sucks in a breath.

“Close?” Dean asks.

“Cramp,” Castiel explains.

“Yeah, this kinda fuckin’ blows,” Dean agrees. “Hang on, I’ll move.”

Castiel hooks his arms around Dean’s shoulders and his legs around his waist, and Dean hoists him up and moves them back against the tagged up wall by the urinal.

God, this is even less private and less glamorous than the back of Dean’s car, but what’s glamour to a twenty-three year old fifth-year college student with a hot guy’s dick inside him?

Castiel tightens his hold on Dean and rests his head against his shoulder, fucking back against him as best he can but, god, like this it’s hard to do anything but make up swear words and suck love bites into Dean’s damp, salty skin.

And then Castiel can’t take it anymore. His cock is heavy between them, practically drooling precome as Dean hits him at a good angle a few times in a row. He takes himself in his hand and starts to stroke. He tries to time them with Dean’s thrusts, but that’s more effort than his body is willing to put in right now.

“Gonna come for me?” Dean murmurs against Castiel’s lips, and Castiel squeezes his eyes shut and nods. It hits him hard not long after, his hand working spurt after spurt of thick, gooey white out of him. Another few thrusts and Dean is quick to follow, going still as Castiel kisses him through it.

Sweat cools on Castiel’s skin, but the heat roiling between their bodies is too much to take. They separate after a few moments and reassemble themselves.

Castiel tries very hard to get the stains out of his t-shirt, but he is wildly unsuccessful.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “I can’t go back to work like this.”

“Here, I’ll trade you,” Dean offers. His shirt, while a little damp with sweat, is free from come stains.

That is a very fortunate step up for Castiel.

His shirt is also a little too big for him, and the plaid over shirt only makes Castiel feel as though he’s playing dress-up.

Dean looks about as displeased with Castiel’s Devo t-shirt.

“You are not serious,” he just says.

“I’ve been wearing it all night,” Castiel rolls up the sleeves of Dean’s plaid shirt and catches a look at himself in the mirror. He’s one step away from becoming a commercial logger.

“Who the fuck likes Devo?” Dean gripes as they exit the bathroom.

“I do,” Castiel frowns. They just had sex in a very public restroom and now Dean is criticizing his musical preferences?

Except when he looks back at Dean, he’s smiling.

Castiel realizes that Dean was just giving him a hard time when he pulls Castiel forward into a kiss.

When he finally gets back to work, Meg looks him up and down a few times, a wry smile on her face before she remarks, “Awfully butch duds, Clarence.”

“My other shirt has been compromised,” says Castiel.

“Oh, I’ll bet,” Meg nods.

Castiel spends half of his shift trying to convince Meg that it wasn’t a big deal, and the other half blushing bright red every time Dean catches his eye from across the bar.

**oo**

Dean drives Cas home after his shift.

They make out in the car for nearly ten minutes before Cas pulls back and asks very frankly if Dean would like to go upstairs with him.

Fuck yes he would.

That’s how Dean ends up in Cas’ bed well into the morning, legs tangled in fancy flannel sheets and nose buried in the intoxicating warmth of Cas’ neck. He can’t believe that he has it in himself to get an erection after the goddamned endurance fucking that went on last night, but there it is.

Cas must be awake, because the moment he feels Dean stir from sleep he grinds back against him.

“Don’t write a check your ass can’t cash, big boy,” Dean murmurs into Cas’ skin, a hickey blooming under his lips soon after.

Castiel sighs into it and rolls them over, so he’s poised above Dean. There’s this feral look in his sleepy blue eyes that makes Dean’s heart thud and erection twitch.

By the time they finally make it out of Cas’ room, Cas is running late for his shift at the animal shelter. He pours himself a cup of coffee and grabs a muffin off of a plate by the stove.

There’s a cake on a stand a little ways down the counter.

“You bake?” asks Dean.

“My brother,” Castiel explains. “And if we don’t leave soon, he’ll come out here and harass us.”

“Looks like he already has,” Dean pulls the cake toward them, and Castiel groans.

In green frosting (in very neat writing), across the top of the cake reads, “Congrats on the Sex!”

“Son of a bitch,” Cas mutters and Dean laughs.

By the time Dean has dropped Cas at the shelter and driven home, it’s mid-morning. As much as he would have loved to adopt the dog yesterday, or even today, he knows that Sammy gets more of a say than he does.

“Holy crap,” Sam shakes his head as Dean drags himself in through the front door. “This has got to be a record.”

“Shut up,” Dean flips him off and goes right for the coffee. Shameless caffeine addict that he is, he realized all too late that he should have nabbed some coffee at Cas’ place before they bounced.

He downs the first cup he pours, not caring that it nearly scalds the skin off of his tongue and throat.

He’s got a massive headache.

“The hell are you doing?” asks Sam over the top of his book.

“Hydrating,” Dean pours himself another cup. “Trust me, you’ll understand once you’ve had a night like I just did.”

“Gross,” Sam wrinkles his nose. “You know coffee actually dehydrates you, right?”

Dean pauses halfway through his first sip.

“Caffeine acts as a diuretic,” Sam nods, and Dean raises his eyebrow. Sam falters and then explains, “Makes you piss like two motherfuckers.”

“Oh,” Dean shrugs. “All liquid does that.”

“If you wanna hydrate just drink water,” Sam suggests, and Dean rolls his eyes.

Sam may be smart, but that’s just ridiculous.

“Doin’ anything today?” asks Dean, and Sam shrugs.

“Just studying, probably,” he replies. “Got my first AP test tomorrow morning.”

“Shit, that’s right,” Dean rubs at his eyes. “I was gonna hit up the grocery store. Come with.”

Sam sighs and shuts his book.

_Princeton Review: AP World History Exam._

Fucking nerd.

Maybe he and Cas would get along all right.

He brings his book with him, which makes it way easier than Dean thought it would be to get him to the animal shelter without giving anything away.

When they park, Sam finally looks up and frowns.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Animal shelter,” Dean offers him a smile, and confusion crops up on Sam’s face.

“Why?”

“I thought,” Dean shrugs, suddenly feeling too tight in his skin. Spend all night banging a stranger, no problem; try doing something nice for your kid brother, feel like a total jackass.

Totally appropriate reactions, right?

“You’ve wanted a dog forever,” Dean explains.

“Yeah, and dad puts the kibosh on it every time,” says Sam.

“Well,” Dean unbuckles his seatbelt. “He’s gonna have to deal with it.”

That’s all Sam needs to hear. He unbuckles his seatbelt and bolts from the car as fast as he can, fucking giddy.

Dean follows him as close as he can, but stops to greet Cas at the front desk.

“Is that Sam?” asks Cas, indicating the massive dweeb on the other side of the glass, who is already making faces at a pitbull through its cage.

“Yep,” Dean nods. “He’s a little excited.”

“That’s good,” Castiel replies. “People should be excited about pet ownership.”

“You wanna meet him?” asks Dean, not meaning for it to sound like he’s ready to introduce him to the family or anything like that. God, he probably sounds impressively stupid.

But Castiel just smiles and says, “I’d love to. I just have to wait for Charlie to get back.”

Dean nods and drums his knuckles on the counter.

There’s no way not to be awkward about the whole thing, especially since he pushes several times on the door to outside that clearly instructs him to pull.

When he finally finds Sam, he’s kneeling right in front of Paddy’s cage, reading the sheet of information zip-tied to the chain-link.

“Hey, you found him,” Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets, and Sam looks up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “I came in yesterday. He was my favorite, ‘cause, y’know… he’s Sam-sized.”

Sam lets out a laugh at that and turns back to Paddy. He’s in love already, Dean can tell.

“Dad’ll lose his fucking mind,” Sam finally says.

“Goddamn right he will,” Dean nods. “But he’ll just have to deal with it, right?”

Sam leaps up and wraps his skinny arms around Dean, hugging him tight.

“Um, I can come back,” Dean hears Castiel behind them, and Dean quickly makes a grab for him.

He ends up with a handful of shirt.

Dean’s shirt that he never gave back.

That he’s wearing even though he does not need to.

“Did you want to play with him?” asks Castiel, and at Dean’s confusion explains, “Your brother and the dog, Dean.”

“Sam, this is, Cas-Castiel,” Dean grabs the back of his neck. “He’s—”

“Wearing your shirt,” Sam notes, mildly affronted by the implication. “You didn’t sleep with him to get me a dog, did you?”

“No, Sam, Jesus Christ,” Dean replies at the same time Castiel reassures, “I don’t have the power to approve or deny pet adoptions based on sexual stamina.”

Sam’s face scrunches up, and Dean jabs Castiel in the ribs. For whatever reason, he’s always been a little squeamish about Sammy knowing that he likes guys. Sam has reassured him numerous times that he doesn’t care, that he just wants Dean to be happy, but for whatever reason it’s not like talking about girls with him.

And this? Fuck, this just makes him feel like he’s naked and on display in front of a room full of people.

Castiel appears to be unfazed by awkward situations, however, and leads both Sam and Paddy over to an enclosed area with a bench and a little patch of grass.

“Holy crap, he’s massive!” Sam laughs. “Hey Paddy, come up here boy.”

He pats his chest and laughs, amazed, when Paddy goes up on his hind legs and puts his front paws on Sam’s shoulders. A few years ago would have found Sam dwarfed and quite possibly crushed under such a large animal, but now they look to be just perfect for each other.

“You didn’t say anything on that sheet about this fucker being part wookie, goddamn,” says Dean as he and Castiel watch Sam scratch Paddy behind his ears. “Nice prom date, Sammy.”

Sam flips him off, but he’s so in love with Paddy already that he can’t even pretend to be annoyed.

“Can I really get him?” he asks instead, and Dean swallows hard.

“Dude, I wouldn’t bring you here and not let you get a dog, that’s just plain cruel.”

Paddy drops from Sam’s shoulders and Sam, for the second time today, engulfs Dean in a massive hug.

Paddy wants to be a part of it too, already feeling a part of the family. He pushes between Dean and Sam and, holy fuckballs, hops up on Dean just as he did Sam.

“Okay, okay!” Dean chuckles. “Yeah, happy fuckin’ family, I get it.”

“I like it,” Cas says from his perch atop the concrete wall. “He looks happy.”

Paddy lets out this deep, chesty bark that makes Dean leap back. It is, he realizes, a happy bark, just as Castiel anticipated.

“If you’d like, Dean and I will start on the adoption paperwork while you and Paddy get better acquainted,” Cas says. Sam turns this puppy dog face on Dean that Paddy inexplicably knows how to mirror already and fuck, now there’s two faces in this family he can’t say ‘no’ to.

Cas leads him back to the front office and sits behind the computer.

“All right,” he begins. “First thing, I need a legal form of identification.”

Dean nods and pulls out his wallet, slipping his driver’s license out of its holder and handing it to Cas.

He looks over it with a careful eye and smiles, “Pleased to meet you, Dean Winchester. I’m Castiel Novak.”

Dean smiles, because fuck, they hadn’t even gotten to last names yet and he’s all but head over heels already. Cas smiles back, about to start entering information until something about the card gives him pause.

“You’re twenty,” he says.

“Yep,” Dean nods. “I—is that okay?”

“Considering I met you in the bar I work at, and I’m the one that carded you,” Cas looks up, light of the computer monitor illuminating his eyes.

Oh…

Well, fuck him sideways.

“Shit,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

“It’s okay,” Cas sighs and starts entering his information into the computer. His gaze then flicks back up to Dean, and he says, “We’ll just have to go somewhere else for our next date.”

Dean and Sam both leave the shelter smiling more broadly than they have in years.


End file.
